Aries: The electric air of a far-off storm calls you to fields draped in dusk, and black clouds heaped tall on the horizon fill you with terrible longing for something you feel but cannot know—a fearful devotion to a place without shape, a love that burns with no name.
Taurus: Before sleep, strange memories bubble up–a buzzing cicada night where you pant and push onward, pacing low to the ground behind an empty schoolyard, air thick with the smell of snapped weeds and animal hair, the wail of a distant train. You aren’t sure what belongs to you there.
Gemini: Sleep doesn’t come like it used to, and the late air hangs heavy with the smell of wet leaves and slow decay. It presses on you, a blanket of forest that fills your lungs. Driving at night, you see deer in every shadow, bounding away into the trees, always away.
Cancer: Deep in the woods, a sheet hangs suspended above a dry riverbed–a cloth that moves like translucent flesh over the stones and bends the light away. A voice calls from the other side, and a dozen thin hands reach out for you behind the veil, to cradle you, to bring you home again.
Leo: When the day becomes unbearable, seek refuge in the absence of light. Your head comes alive in the dark, a menagerie of sound, filled with beating wings and unfurling green. Look into a mirror and see yourself, unfamiliar and intruded upon, a wild animal watching you through your own eyes.
Virgo: A heart shifts beneath your skin–a sleeping thing turning over, restless in its final dream. You’ll become something new on the night that it wakes, and when someone calls out your name through the woods, searching, the sound will be lost beneath the roar of the crickets, forgotten at last.
Libra: You’ll find it lying on warm pavement in the black of night, an inscrutable god whose head curls back as it returns to the ground. It will speak its final prayer to you through the sizzling static and swaying powerlines, warped and guttural with grief. Stay until the air goes quiet.
Scorpio: There is something you’ve forgotten, though it’s not entirely gone. Trying to remember it now brings a sad sort of pain, an aching in your eyes and arms. Let your hands guide you, and find something buried beneath the lake, near the shore–entombed in silt, bones that once were yours.
Sagittarius: Visions tear at the corners of your eyes, peeling back the edges. There’s something just beneath, another place turned back like a hazy reflection, at once familiar and strange. It comes and goes, hitches your breath, leaves you gazing toward a distant mountain that was never there.
Capricorn: In dreams, you hear a language without words, a deep humming from the ground and air around you. You wake to a bitter leaf curled beneath your tongue, and a circlet of grass about your neck. Outside, the world is murmuring, and each sound seems like a voice.
Aquarius: Pillars of white smoke float like phantoms between the trees at dawn, flameless and churning among the leaves. Count them before they fade in the light of day—they are meant as a message, and mark the days until they return for you. Be waiting outside when they arrive.
Pisces: To your eyes, the sky moves faster than it has before, sweeping clouds across the landscape like breakers on the sea. Your blood feels cold, rushed, and the stars streak across the black expanse, like tracers behind headlights, like the world is falling away.
2087
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